Don't Even Grin
by OfLoveAndLies
Summary: Discontinued. Stella is your run-of-the-mill, curious, 'Bubble Girl,' who's heard very little of the outside world. What will happen when we mix her fragile psych with that of the Joker's, I wonder? Chaos and insanity, of course!
1. Prolouge

**Okay, I quit resisting to publish this! This story originated as scattered parts of dreams I had, but I modified it into making slightly more sense[c'mon, it's a Joker story. XD]. This part is mainly the prologue. If you think you're going to like this story, by this entry; Review, review, review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Joker, The Batman, or 'Bob.' DC ComicsTM does. I do own my character and her family, though.**

I hate my mother. I used to think she loved me, so the feeling was mutual, but I then found that love to actually be an obsession. She took the one thing more precious to me than money, or love, or life; time. She took my time away from me, so I took it back.

I did need a severe bit of help, you see, to open my eyes to this fact. All of my life, I had been sheltered. Literally. You may be thinking "Oh, well, here goes another story about some rebel chick with strict parents." Well, you're very wrong. I was born with Severe Combined Immunodeficiency, which you'd all know as the "bubble boy" disease, I think. Every single person, boy or girl, is usually born with an immune system. Without it, we'd all die, because the thymus gland produces T-helper cells, a huge part of our immune system. And I didn't have that.

You know that movie "Bubble Boy," right? How they make big ha ha's from the fact this Jimmy fellow parades around the nation, in a bubble suit, to find some hoe-bag who apparently has some definition to her feeble mind? It's all a load of crap.

Yeah, I needed to stay confined within a sterile environment and only eat certain foods-no meat for me-, or I'd die. That's all the movie got right. My room didn't have windows, or I would have overheated and died. The room temperature had to stay at a toasty 56 degrees Fahrenheit, just in case there were any leaks in my own plastic sanctuary. There never were. I was always deathly pale and wondering if I would keel over, any time soon, for as long as I'd lived with this disease.

At the ripe age of eighteen, I really had no choice but to still reside in my parent's house. Did I mention that they were completely loaded? They wouldn't have been able to afford my living space, if they hadn't been.

Mr. Johnathan P. Erickson and Mrs. Mary J. Erickson were the proud parents of two lovely children with the same illness. Can you believe it? They both must have carried the gene, for both my brother, Odin, and I had the same unfortunate dilemma we had to face alone.

I had never actually seen Odin, of course, but we had convinced our parents to get us a set of walkie-talkies to stay in touch with each other. I knew he was eight years old and had a great infatuation with cars, but that's all I could find out from the quiet boy. We were the only ones we had, despite what we thought of our mother; of the true obsessive jail warden she really was. She was our collector and we were her obsession...

**Well, that was that! I hope you enjoyed it. There will obviously be my own sense of humor thrown into the story, b****ut I promise not to get too out of hand with my ridiculousness. ^ ^ **


	2. Masqueraded

**Now, since there wasn't much to review on the prologue, here's the beginning of it. Special thanks to LissaWonderland for pointing out that Batman actually belongs to DC ****comics[Whoops. XD] Now, we see exactly how Stella reacts to the truth being told to her. Enjoy!**

Now, we get to the fun part of the story.

One groggy spring night-my alarm clock read ten o'clock-I had been quietly laying on my bed, twirling a long strand of dark brunette hair around my finger as I attempted to battle the insomnia I'd had to deal with since I was eight. My mother was always offering to get the doctor to give me a prescription, but I always bluntly declined, liking the time spent in the dark and under the covers, warmth enveloping me as I hid underneath layers of blankets. Conveniently enough, just as I was about to wander off to sleep, something shook me from the silence.

"Stella..." A voice called from very far away, making me think it might have just been a whisper in my mind. I rolled onto my other side, punching at my pillow with a loosened fist to soften it more, before hearing the voice a second time, this time slightly closer and shriller. "Stella!" I was sitting up now, as I recognized it to be my mother's voice. I was also, however, stuck in the dark, the light switch far from my reach outside of my plastic dome.

"Mom?" I questioned, yelling it down the hall and standing up, only to trip over the guitar I had left there, previously. Grumbling quietly to myself, I sighed while sitting myself up on the floor.

"Is the house on fire, or something?" I questioned as I spotted more than just two figures standing in the door frame. Just as I began to squint, trying to make out who they were, the lights flashed on, sending their usual tint of green onto every surface of the room. I shielded my eyes, flinching from the sudden change in brightness. Recovering quickly, however, I stopped completely in my tracks.

At first, I wasn't able to make out the situation. My mother stood there in tears, looking disheveled and just woken up. The man standing next to her, one arm around her shoulders, was a complete stranger to me.

_A burglar?_ I guessed, my head tilting ever so slightly to the right in wonder. Then, I noticed something very wrong.

His face was a chalky white and his black eyes were surrounded by black makeup. Then I noticed the wrong part; at the corners of his mouth, a grotesque smile was carved into his face, the scars long ago having been inflicted. I glanced at his green hair, the purple and green suit he wore and the knife he idly held in the hand nearest to my mother as he smiled wickedly at me. I blinked, opened my mouth to say something, then closed it, blinking again. I eventually found my voice.

"...Who the Hell are you?" I questioned, not accusingly but it awe. I had never, in my life, seen such a corrupt creature. I stood myself up, eying my mother, then the strange man, then the two others behind him, then back at him, waiting for an answer. Instead of looking offended, he looked confused, and then laughed, a heart thudding sound.

"Well, aren't you the sheltered one, Beautiful." A tremor shot down my spine from the term he used to address me. He simply laughed again, the sound similar to a demented clown's. With the arm now around my mother's neck, he gestured towards himself, the knife tip pressed against her cheek. "My, ah...associates _fondly _know me as The Joker. Mommy Dearest has already told me all about you, you masqueraded bubble girl, you." The Joker explained, taking the knife away from my mother's face as a trail of blood ran down from where it had been resting. Out of instinct, I took two irritated steps forwards, faltering after I had processed his words.

"Masqueraded?" I asked, this time accusingly as I stared at my mother's quaking form. What was going on? The Joker rested his head on my mother's shoulder, looking nothing even close to the picture of innocence.

"Go on, Mommy, tell your little Stella the secret you shared with me." I didn't move my gaze away from her, taking another three steps forward. I may have been naïve about some of the aspects of the outside world, but a dark feeling loomed above my head, causing me to frown.

"Mom...what is it?" She looked absolutely horror stricken, her eyes wide and her parlor getting whiter and whiter until she matched my own complexion. Whimpering slightly, she bit her lip in obvious hesitation.

"Well...Honey, when you were eight, we had found a bone marrow transplant match for you. You were cured, from then on…But I _couldn't-_simply _could not-_expose you to the evils of this world! Sweetheart, I just...I _know _you're too frail for the outside, so I had to-" I completely and utterly stilled, silencing my mother with just a look.

She couldn't have possibly done what she had just said she'd done, right? It just...didn't make any sense. She loved me, right?...Right? She wouldn't love me, if she'd done such a thing...but she had. I felt a flicker of something unidentifiable stir the contents of my heart around, webbing out and seething from my body. It made my vision turn red and my heart accelerate violently as it welled up in my throat and I suddenly could identify what it was; rage. My mind was slowly shattering into millions of fractions and rage drove me to continue to stand upright. Not knowing what else to do with it, I expelled it verbally.

"How _dare _you! How dare you take my fucking _life _away from me!" I screeched while feeling my heart speeding as adrenaline coursed through me. For the first time in my life, true heat glowed fiercely from within me as I paced like a caged animal. I was so caught up in seething that I didn't notice my domain falling to the ground around me, folding into the corners of the room. Air rushed around me, thought I barely noticed my hair whipping around my face in my fit of rage.

"Stella, please! I only wanted to protect you!" I whirled to face her. Pulling up the sleeve of my black shirt, I exposed eight out of the ten infinity marks climbing up my inner arm. They were all formed from scar tissue, permanently tinted a violent red from an apparent error made during the healing process.

"This is the price I pay for your _protection_, mother. What, have you forgotten about them completely? They're still there and they still _burn_!" I paced back towards my bedside table, grabbing up the picture frame of my parents and flinging it against the wall above their heads. Glass rained down on everyone, my mother stunned into silence and the Joker being carried into a fit of laughter.

"What of Odin? Were you lying to him, too?" I growled. Mom let out a squeak and would have backed up, if it weren't for the Joker's hand around the back of her neck.

"No-no! He hasn't been cured."

"Were you planning on curing him?"

"Of course!"

"And you wouldn't have _told _him, would you?"

"I..."

"I didn't think so." This evil woman was the only thing in the room I was paying attention to. Leaning down, I picked up a red permanent marker, popping the cap off and idly doodling on my right hand. I smiled in accomplishment, my smile vanishing as I met her frightened gaze. I brought my hand against her cheek, my backwards letters imprinting LIAR into her skin. Then I backhanded her other cheek, THEIF remaining near the cut in her skin. All of my feeling and emotion was gone from me, only a bitter pit of fury and hate remaining within.

I wouldn't have imagined so, but it hadn't taken much to make me snap. At that very moment, I held no rhyme nor reason to my logic; what was left of it, in either case.

For the first time since I had snapped, I turned my attention towards Joker, my chest burning with raw energy.

"I want my life back," I stated simply, not glancing towards my mother, who was cowering from me in fear.

_How unflattering, for su__ch__ a wealthy and powerful woman. _My musing had been interrupted when cold steel was placed within my hand. I looked down at the sleek handgun, bringing it up to eye level as my mother broke into terrified sobs.

"Then by all means, take it, ah, back, Beautiful." I was, to say the least, surprised by this action, but I knew the Joker had ulterior motives. Dodging my eyes between the pair of black and pair of baby blue eyes, I finally sided with the blue ones.

"Shh, come here, Mother," I beckoned, one arm outstretching and enveloping her around the shoulders-I was a full three inches taller than her at five foot six. Resting her shaking form against the wall, I hugged her to me, hating every second of physical contact I had to endure of her.

"Everything will be alright..." I kissed her directly on the forehead, lingering for three seconds before pulling away, smiling warmly as the briefest shimmer of hope dawned in her eyes.

"As soon as you're dead." Swiftly, before even the slightest hint of sound passed through her lips, I brought the gun to the warm place my lips had been and pulled on the trigger. I took one long step backwards, watching her crumpled form fall to the ground, a butterfly shaped stain of red decorating the white wall behind her.

"You know, some spiders kill their mothers, before leaving the nest." I mentioned, handing the gun to the well-built yet stout bald man as I grinned, looking the Joker in the eye.

"Just call me Charlotte." I passed gazes to the two others as the Joker seemed to let loose whatever laughter he had been holding back, gripping his sides. They both seemed a little shocked, by their posture; the clown masks threw me off. Had I been so harsh in the murder of my own mother? No matter, I didn't have any hang-ups, whether I was to survive the next 24 hours or not.

"You, I like!" Joker exclaimed excitedly, clapping in mocking childishness. I nodded in acknowledgment, wanting to roll my eyes at him but thinking his mood may have been delicate.

"Hey, you woke me up." I defended, a somberness settling upon me.

"But, on a more serious note, what business do you have here? Money? Power? Revenge?" I questioned, irritated by the questions I had to ask.

"Oh, just picking a few things up. You'd fit into a 60 by 15 by 20 box, if ya' squeeze, right?" Even though I knew he was completely serious, I let a small smile flutter in my eyes.

"I haven't ever tried, but I'll see what I can do...Why am I going with you, though?" I inquired, watching steadily as Joker took a step towards me, his smile clearly more intimidating from close up.

"'Cause you've got finesse, Beautiful, and you just may prove useful in the, ah, _game_ I've started. Besides, if you wanna' trade your fishbowl for a cage, go for it." He pointed out, his eyes darkening while his grin remained.

"I have lots of friends, there, you know." My eyes widened as I took in his threat and reasoning, remembering that society had such things as murder charges.

"A-Alright, I'm convinced, but...I need to meet someone, first." I muttered as I shifted myself into the hallway, opening three closed doors until I found what I was looking for.

Odin, the most stunning blonde haired child I'd ever seen, was slumbering soundly in his twin sized bed. Toy cars and partially finished puzzles cluttered his protected space. Smiling quietly to myself, I took my trusty red marker and wrote a short backwards note on the surface of his protective dome.

_'Odin,_

_ I'm sorry to say that Mom's gone somewhere, for good. She lied to me about my SCID, as I was cured at the age of eight. I've called for someone to assist you. I don't think I'll ever see you again, but I want you to keep fighting._

_ Eye heart u,_

_ Stella'_

Picking up the blue wireless phone kept right by the light-switch in the room, I dialed the police and left it, face down, on the floor; I knew they would have to respond to every call, but the nearest police station was twelve miles away, giving anyone with the need to escape a very good chance. Especially when they were lurking outside of the room. Shifting a pair of the nearest fitting shoes I could find-I ended up with black rain boots-I grabbed the long knife I had guessed my mother had hidden underneath a painting of a fruit bowl, when nobody was looking-along with assorted other markers. Stashing them into my left boot, I straightening my back out, feeling more somber now that my energy rush had vanished.

"Point me to my box," I allowed somberly, bitterly disappointed when I discovered no box within the back of the black windowless van.

There was the unconscious body of my father, though, which I suspected made up for something.

_Whatever, I'll eventually find a bunch of pape__r and glue it into a box shape._ I sat next to my father and across from the skinny man. The stout one whose name I'd learned was Bob was sitting up front as the Joker drove like a crazy person. Oh, was I _full_ of jokes, that night. Flicking the sweat off of my brow, I wondered how anyone could think of this temperature as comfortable. Looking around boredly, I noted the Joker and Bob talking about something I couldn't hear, the multiple bullet dents in the side of the van, and that I was running out of room to doodle on my father's face. I turned towards Skinny, raising a brow when he gave me a disbelieving look.

"The fuck are you doing?" He asked, his unmasked face very...Italian, as in, that 100% Italian stereotype lookalike with slicked back hair, an olive skin parlor, and brown eyes.

"What? Do you want a turn?" I asked back, smirking when he rolled his eyes. I added another flower under my father's eye, coloring in the petals and adding a stem that led up his nose. Snickering, I drew a finishing touch of eyelashes, before quitting my attempted masterpiece.

**Phew, that's a big chunk of the edited part of the story. Tell me whatcha' think! Was it horribly angsty? I was thinking that it might be, but please, give me your opinion on Stella's little hissy fit. I mean, would you be any more morally or emotionally stable than her, if you were stuck in a bubble for your entire life? Having her crack is just the tip of the iceberg, people! You give me reviews, I give you chapters. D**

**Also, I'm gonna****'**** try to remember to quickly type down what I was listening to, while writing this[I'm allowed to do this, righ****t? ], so I might just expand someone's horizon, while I'm at it. **

**Songs I was listening to while writing this part: "Thoughtless" by Korn, "X Amount of Words" by Blue October, and "Jars" by Chevelle.**

**-Jess**


	3. Sonnie?

**Aaand, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but Junior year of high school is a real b*tch. This part's on the short side, but I wanted to post it, just so you know that I'm not giving ****up on this story! So, uh, enjoy? XD**

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own The Joker or Batman(as much as I wish I could).**

I was violently shaken awake, not realizing I had fallen asleep, until my eyes reopened. I sat up from using my father's back as a pillow, hopping out of the side door and hearing the sound of a body being dragged out of the vehicle. Wordlessly, I followed the parade of crazy people, feeling the handle of my knife slightly indenting into my leg. Staring up at the large building that resembled a warehouse, I realized that I had no idea where I was. Were we still in Bay View? I doubted it.

Immediately, after entering the beaten down warehouse, I noted a beaten down couch and the glow of a TV. The inside of the building looked more like a dumpy apartment. The far side of the large room had a dinky kitchen, looking as if it wasn't used very often.

_Ablutophobia[1]. Go figure, with a bunch of crazy _men _living here. _Thinking to myself, I saw Joker turn around, all humor gone from his face.

"Sit." He ordered somberly, pointing at the couch with a gloved hand. Figuring it would be a bad thing to piss him off-at that moment, anyway-I sat myself on the right side of the couch, folding my legs Indian style habitually.

"Stay." What was I, a dog? I looked him directly in the eye, nodding in acknowledgment as I propped my head up with my arm. After he spent a very long moment pinning me down with a promising glare, he eased up and spun in another direction, skipping as he dragged my father's unconscious body behind him.

_Such a strange man.__.__.Why the hell am I being guarded, anyway? _I turned towards Skinny, whom was sitting on the opposite side of the couch as me, acting as my babysitter until further notice.

"Hey, uh, you. Why are you...still here?" I questioned Skinny, wielding my marker when he gave me a weird look. He only shrugged, turning towards the TV to watch whatever unaesthetic show flashed through the screen.

_Ugh, great, laliophobia__[2]__. He's not going to be any help, either. _I sat there, sulking and bored.My mind was buzzing with the events of the night, calmly reviewing what had happened and still pestering me about the reason I felt no remorse and why I was where I was. What, exactly, was Joker planning? He'd mentioned something about a game...but I felt that this game would be nothing like Yahtzee.

"Who's the new kid?" I heard another strange voice ask, turning towards the source and blinking. The voice belonged to a guy-the oldest he could have been was 20-who was just walking through the archway the Joker had taken my father, his neon blue hair in a mess around his head. His yellow cat eyes-I could easily tell he wore contact lenses-glanced at me curiously, his expression just waken up.

"Dunno. Some rich chick; shot her mom, point blank, first chance she got." Skinny deliberated, apparently not as afraid to speak, now.

_How discriminative of him._ The blue haired guy rose a brow, some form of a smile on his face.

"Did you, now? What, did she take your cellphone away, or something?" His smile faltered when he spotted the intense purple circles under my eyes and my paper white complexion as I turned towards him, a subtle frown on my face.

"No, I've never had one, actually; those things cause cancer, you know. What happened was-you're gonna' laugh about this-she lied about me having Severe Combined Immunodeficiency, for my entire life, and had me living in a plastic bubble, with no windows! Oh-oh-and you know what else? I've been cured, since I was eight, but I still writhe in pain from the scars, when I wake up!" I exclaimed, smirking bitterly.

"Kay?" I asked, instantly calm and wondering who this nosy guy was.

"Huh, sure, whatever rocked your boat enough that it landed you here. Hey, maybe you'll live for long enough that I might remember your name." Ugh, what an arrogant bastard.

"They call me Sonnie." I nodded in confirmation.

"Stella," I replied, turning back in the direction of the TV when Sonnie wandered towards the kitchen area, probably wondering if he'd find anything edible there.

"I'll try to fit that within my files. The quiet guy next to you is Marco; he doesn't say shit, 'less something seriously messed up is going on, so good luck with getting anything out of him." I smirked, having already accomplished the difficult task within minutes of being in the same space as Marco. Was being able to push people so far into paranoia really an accomplishment, though? Hell, if I knew! I huffed from having to stay in the same location, having a feeling that I would end up in a bad situation, if I were to move. Otherwise, I wouldn't have minded stirring up trouble, but I hadn't been able to sleep properly for a week and had much less enthusiasm than usual. As I merely thought about the idea of sleeping, I could feel my eyelids becoming heavy again. I propped my head up with my arm, for the second time, now using my hand as the nearest available pillow. If I was going to wait around for the crazy clown, I was going to use my free time wisely.

**Sonnie's an ass, isn't he?**

**[1] Fear of cleaning; fear of washing or bathing.**

**[2] Fear of speaking.**

**I like to sneak these in, every now and them, as I'm a complete phobia fanatic. I just like 'em. xD ****Please, rate and review! Critiquing is always appreciated! **


	4. It's a Secret

**Hello! I'm taking a quick break from my hiatus, as I **_**finally **_**don't have any homework/work/other affairs to deal with. Enjoy!**

Waking up the second time that night was much less violent, yet much more awkward, to say the least. My body was lying horizontally and curled up on the same side of the couch with my head slightly more elevated. I assumed I had laid myself down on the couch's armrest, until I spotted the purple pant clad leg underneath my head and felt the gloved hand nonchalantly petting the hair against the side of my head, its owner occasionally giggling dementedly at the TV broadcast.

_How the Hell did _this _predicament end up happening? _I thought in a panic, attempting and failing to control my frenzied heartbeats.

"Ah, Beautiful, good, you're awake!" Joker exclaimed before I had the chance to sit myself up, which I did shortly afterward.

"Just in time; they're doing a marathon about me!" I looked towards the TV screen as he excitedly bounced in his seat, noticing that it was a news channel doing an expose' on Gotham's most wanted criminals, with Joker being #1. So, I was in Gotham, huh? Interesting; I had family living there.

My father's cousin's aunt's third cousin thrice removed was the butler of the city's rich playboy, Bruce Wayne. Ironically, half of our family was rolling in dough, while the other half had been serving as hired help, for hundreds of years. Funny how that is, huh?

"Congratu-lations?" I guessed, not exactly sure what I was supposed to say in a situation such as that. Seeing as he was still grinning proudly at the screen, I'd assumed I'd guessed correctly. I idly watched the screen as some newscaster lady rattled off contact information if anyone spotted these "dangerous threats to society," then gave a start as the report randomly cut off and a reel clip flipped on, the Joker's ear rattling laugh sounding in the very beginning.

_ Does he _have _to do that? Jeez! _I mused, annoyed at my own jumpiness. Of course he did; he was him. An apparent psychopath. Well, that was the impression I got when I realized the video being shown resembled that of a shaky Vlog, other than the fact that my father was apparently missing a left ear and had flowers colored all over his face-no, wait, that was my doing.

I simply watched the bum wreath in pain and fear as the Joker was mentioning something I didn't have the first clue about. Who was Harvey Dent? Or Batman, for that matter? Finally, it occurred to me that I should be wary around the guy. I didn't have a whole lot of room to talk, but the guy seemed very...off.

There's another joke, just for you.

I suddenly felt very anxious as he turned towards me with a-how could I possibly explain that deranged expression-playful grin on his face.

_Uh oh, I don't think that this is a good thing. _I fretted, my attention snapping back as he began to say something.

"You, ah, wanna know a secret?" The Joker questioned, his eyes telling me that I'd better had. Despite my common sense, my stupidity nodded cautiously, so eagerly curious that it completely outweighed my rational thought. Though he seemed happy with my response, I was not. You know that feeling you get, just about before you get your ass kicked? Well...

"Uh, well, my favorite color's green," he confined, intertwining his fingers together and pressing both of his index fingers against his mouth, "but, ah, you can't tell anyone. Not Bob-Cat over there, or even me, got it?" Joker asked in a confirming tone, seeming to be mocking some kind of life counselor or something of the sort.

"You'll have to rip it out of me." I confirmed, my best guess for survival being to have his trust me, on any level. As his grin turned to a look of evil, however, I thought that maybe I'd used the wrong wording. Maybe even the worst use of words I could have possibly given as a response.

"Interesting, ah, choice of words!" He screamed, and I was off of that couch and bee-lining it towards the door, noticing then that my shoes were missing. Who takes someone's _shoes? _I didn't get even a foot away, before a bang went off from behind me and something bore into my lower leg, sending me plummeting towards the floor as red hot pain shot through my tendons.

"OWWWW!" I screamed, the only reply available to me as I rolled onto my back and realized that I had just been shot. I was beginning to lose some of my optimism as more blood streamed from the bullet wound in my left leg. I glared up at the demented clown, pissed off by the pain I was experiencing and wondering what the hell was going on.

"What was _that _for?" I asked, pain usually causing me to shout at inappropriate moments and have a very short temper. I was still in shock, which was why there was a five second delay between the Joker strutting up to me and dragging me in the opposite direction by my hair and me beginning to kick and thrash and curse at him. This accomplished nothing-absolutely nothing-but I felt that I should at least try.

"I recall telling you to stay, but, uh, off you go, wandering towards the door. And here I am, thinking you'd have the guts to take one teensy little bullet to the leg!" I huffed air out of my lungs as I was thrown into a room I'd never seen before, though it did look slightly familiar. The heinous florescent lighting that cast everything into a green tint instantly sent me off and ranting very bad things in my head. I had just gotten away from the sickening lighting, and I was getting dragged back into the exact same type of lighting? The urge to kick and punch and scream at something enabled me to keep a smooth veil of serenity over my face, even though I was burning on the inside.

Burning; that's the only way I could possibly explain it, without sounding any stranger than I would. There was a fire in the very core of my being; a silent and deadly predator unable to strike at anything, unless it broke itself free, as it had while dealing with my mother. I hadn't expected my own reaction, to the situation, perhaps thinking that I'd break down crying or become so shocked that I wouldn't be able to say or do anything. Over the years, I had been trained to restrain and keep this fire contained, and I was terrified of what would happen, if I were to intentionally release it.

This was exactly why I had been keeping an even temper with those who had infuriated me. Sure, I was cool with the fact that my eyes had been opened to the truth about my mother, but dragging me off somewhere and explaining nothing to me-along with shooting me in the leg, of course-was a sure way to get on my bad side.

I sat myself up, not very inhibited by my leg, but still in an overwhelming state of pain. I bit my lip to alleviate my discomfort, scowling darkly as my psychotic clown host started to laugh, as if to mock me. Gripping the chair I had landed near, I almost couldn't feel my injured leg as I stood with its support, the adrenaline from my anger aiding me far more than I would have suspected.

"What are you laughing at, huh? What gives you the right to laugh at _me_? WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?" My entire life had been a mockery; my mother, grinning up from her very own inferno, had made sure of that. I didn't want some lunatic laughing right along with her, despite their differing viewpoints.

His laughter droned to a drawn-out chuckle, but his eyes clearly stated that he was amused by my foul mood. This grin he gave me infuriated me to a point in which my burning made violent waves within me. How could an expression that supposedly depicted happiness agitate me so damn much?

"Well, I'm just so impressed at how, ah, well Mommy Dearest raised you. I was going to attempt it, myself, but it seems that she, uh, already turned you into a complete psychotic whack-job!"

_I'll kill him. I'll kill him so dead that he won't even realize how very dead he is._

_ "..._Ya' just need a little trigger to get you, ah, up and running..."

_What to shut him up with? _I glanced down atthe chair my hand had been leaning against, hearing the Joker paraphrase things I already knew. Gee, maybe I had a problem with authority?...Psh, nah.

I also had a problem with reflexes, because just as I went for the chair, I found myself hitting my skull against the tiled floor with my arms pinned by the legs of said chair, not attempting to suppress my shrieks of pain as the bastard clown leaned his full weight on the seat of the chair, a disappointed and calculating look on his face.

"Tsk tsk tsk, no flinging of chairs while we're trying to carry on a civilized conversation, you." He mocked, setting off another wave of fury in me as I saw his expression from close up.

"Now, uh, just tell me what my favorite color is and we can stop these shenanigans."

At that very moment, I wouldn't have given him his name, if he'd had amnesia.

"Ha! Let me think about it-no," I hissed, feeling the chair dig deeper into my arms as I spoke. I wasn't going to even think about the color, very close to being insulted by the fact that he thought I would drop the ball, because I was in pain. If anyone would have taken into account the pain branded into my brain from my faulty surgery, they would know that the pain I was feeling was a pin prick, compared to what I'd already felt. True, it still felt as if my arms were being crushed on the spot, but I wasn't going to budge.

"Oh, c'mon!" The Joker sighed, almost childishly, causing me to wince and glare at him as he bounced in his spot on the chair. I simply stared at him expectantly. He apparently knew of this game, glaring right back at me with a dark expression on his features. I dodged my eyes to the side; his eyes were much more intimidating than I'd previously thought. I immediately went against my better judgment, responding how I would, if I was asked a ridiculous question.

"I don't answer to condescending assholes."

That about did it, as I was yanked from the ground and smashed into a wall, a gloved hand around my neck as I clawed at it, not getting the slightest whisper of air into my lungs.

_Bad Stella! Bad, bad, bad! _My inner voice screamed inside my head, flipping whatever levers and switches were causing me to panic as I was initially flung into fight or flight mode. It was just that...I could do neither, at the moment, which didn't really leave me many options. I simply idled there for a few seconds, which felt like hours, my feet unable to touch the ground. To my horror, I felt my heart beat begin to slow as my head began to spin and my vision swam in a blurry texture.

I heard his voice saying something that I couldn't quite understand. As much as I loathed hearing it, at that very moment, I strained my ears to filter the words through the fog surrounding me.

"Stupid...why...fucking color...!" Was all I could make out, as hard as I was concentrating, which still triggered a smug smile from me.

_He thinks that I'm going to let him _win? _No dice__! I may be a five foot six inch, eighteen year old shut in, but _he's _the one throwing a fit! I'm going to win, not him!_

I stuck my tongue out, not much caring about the consequences to my actions, seeing as I was dying at that very moment. Things suddenly changed as I was roughly thrown to the ground, a shoe flying into my gut and making me loose the spent breath in my lungs. I could taste blood in my mouth and a very prominent throbbing in my stomach that I felt wasn't going to go away any time soon. My inner self was throwing a tantrum and screaming at me to just tell him, but my pain wasn't going to cost him an easy price; I was either curious or stupid enough to see how much more I could piss him off.

"Have you ever been to a psychiatrist for these anger issues? I hear electroshock therapy is all the rage, lately." I croaked sarcastically, grunting in suppressed pain and letting slip curses at him as I proceeded to get the shit beaten out of me for what I estimated to be ten minutes straight.

"Aren't you bored yet?" I screeched after being kicked in the same place for the tenth time, fearing that I'd begin to internally hemorrhage at any moment. For whatever reason, there was a pause in the abstract pattern of kicking, punching, and throwing me around in response to my outburst. I paid little attention as to why, however, sitting myself up and feeling a definite fracture or at least a crack in three of my ribs and a throbbing in my neck that gave me the suspicion that I had a pinched nerve.

I winced when I felt the other tangible wounds, from various bruises to scrapes, as I glared up at my tormentor in a rather pissed off manner, my will not about to be broken any time soon, if I had anything to say about it. Sure, I wheezed as I breathed and my vision was slightly blurry, but I only considered it a technicality.

"You know something? I think I am. Let's, ah, play a game!" He screamed, rather close to my ear as he threw me back onto the chair. I really wished he'd stop doing that.

Grumbling to myself, I made my body a dead weight as he dragged me back to the chair and sat me in it, looming over me as he took out a switchblade and carelessly swished it around as he circled me. I was vaguely reminded of a ritualistic dance certain voodoo priests did before sacrificing someone to one of their gods. This connection didn't ease my nerves very much, but it did give me a miniscule amount of amusement, which I was grateful for.

I looked at him, attempting to exude boredom as my ribs cried up to me in what could have been a white noise to my pain receptors. I sighed internally, starting to wish that I was sleeping, rather than having to deal with the Joker's bizarre and violent actions. Struggling through the fuzziness in my head, I tried to pay attention to what the man wielding the switchblade was saying.

"..Simple...Wrong color...stab..." I blinked in what felt like slow motion, an aching in my head and lower back sharply dominant on my pain scale. I bobbed my head in passive acknowledgment, keeping myself from going cross eyed.

"Gr-...oundhog brown." I giggled, then shrieked in pain as the blade was dug into my right shoulder. I ground my teeth and my thoughts became angry by the satisfied smirk on Joker's face.

_I am _not _letting pain make me lose!_ Figuring I might as well amuse myself, and possibly irritate the clown, I remembered the songs my private tutor used to sing to teach me to spell each main color. To the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell," I began to obnoxiously sing.

"R-E-D spells red! R-E-D spells red! Apples and tomato juice! R-E-D spells red!" As previously foreshadowed, I was then stabbed right above my left kneecap-also known as the patella, don't you know. Again, a pained cry escaped my lips, but some sort of trigger was released, the adrenaline from the pain I felt casting me into a fit of irritating song.

"Fred Red bumped his head;Had to be fed in bed. Mellow Yellow is a funny fellow; He only eats yellow Jell-O. Sue Blue got the flu-Boo Hoo, Boo Hoo. Burple Purple is a nerple! Ollie Orange ate all the oranges. John Brown went to town; He is such a silly clown. Jack Black sat in the back. Willie White is always right!" For each sentence not containing the word "green," the blade was stabbed deep into several areas of my limbs. I sat there, a sort of derisive laughter shaking my bleeding figure as I felt the Joker's irritated gaze burning holes through my skin. He suddenly took a hold of my shoulders, both of which had puncture marks cut into them, digging his fingers very much near the broken skin.

"C'mon, now! Just say that one, ah, measly little word and this will all be done and over with." I huffed and furiously shook my head, cringing as the Joker's fingers dug deeper into my wounds.

"It's a secret." I said with a shaky voice, the iron taste of blood making me sick to my stomach. I felt the stomach acid in my throat slowly creeping up my esophagus. I swallowed, hard, to keep it at bay.

"Ah, what was that?" the Joker asked, cocking his head to the side in mock curiosity. I held back the urge to growl at him for acting so clueless.

"I told you; it's a secret. I haven't told you, I'm not telling you, and I won't tell you. I've already said that I won't tell you, which I was assuming was what you were not expecting me to do. Sorry to disappoint you." Through the immense pain, blood loss, and extreme intimidation I was feeling, I kept a stiff upper lip and a calm gaze. The Joker's gaze bore down on me, seeming angered, but then he erupted in laughter. The chair, along with me, was tossed backwards and I practically landed on my head. I scrambled to sit up and stared at him in bewilderment.

"Nice job, Beautiful, you passed the pop quiz!" He said in between laughs, walking out of the room and leaving me completely confused.

… "What?"


	5. The Great Escape!

**Here's another chapter, for you! This is the weekend before my last week of school, and I really should be studying for finals, yet I'm not. Feel special. Albeit short, I felt I needed to update it (Sorry that I suck at breaking up chapters.). Enjoy!**

Before I knew it, someone had improvised homemade stitches to seal my puncture wounds-after the incredibly painful irrigation process, might I add. My ribs were also bound in medical tape and I was slumped into some chair in some room I'd never seen before. I didn't even know who had patched me up, or what day it was, for that matter. I just knew that I was pale and young and dizzy and hungry.

I had guessed the dizziness had been caused by all of the blood I has lost and the few bumps to the head I had taken. I accepted that I couldn't do anything but wait out this sensation, but the hunger I did not handle well. My stomach began to warp painfully and I could feel myself break into a sweat. I didn't exactly function well without calories to burn in my stomach. Trying to pull myself out from my daze, I glanced around the room, only to find it empty. Given the chance, I took in the details of the space before me, frowning when given no descriptive clues.

Other than the pile of bloody gauze and assorted homemade surgical tools by my feet, nothing gave away where I was. The windowless walls were covered in peeling maroon wallpaper and the floor was a simple gray cement slate. I touched my previously limp feet to the floor and sighed in relief as a chill traveled up my legs.

My body hadn't registered anything in so long that even the not so pleasant feeling was a thing of joy. For what it was worth, though, my torpidity had given my brain time to register what had happened and what situation I had ended up in.

I shakily got to my feet, teetering to one side, before staggering towards the only door in the room. I reached for the doorknob, only to find it locked, the place where it was fastened to not even jiggling from a loose screw.

"Clithrophobia."[1] I muttered to myself, as I was the only one there to talk to. I knocked tentatively, waiting a few moments, before loudly pounding on the door, the gash in my shoulder throbbing in pain. I pulled my hand back, gritting my teeth from the unexpected pain. As another spasm of pain shot through my stomach, however, I was right back to slamming on the door. My stomach literally felt as if it were full of rusty needles.

I began to pace throughout the room, limping but being too stubborn to stop moving. Back, and forth, and back, and forth. I relied on any pattern I could set my sights on to amuse myself. At one point, I think I sat and stared at one corner of the wall for a straight twenty minutes. I didn't even realize I was doing so. I thought I was going to die there.

Fortunately-or, unfortunately, depending on your view-the door cracked open about an hour after I had situated myself in the fetal position in a comfy corner. I glanced up at the tufts of electric blue hair, my stomach contorting into another knot with each calorie I burned from sitting there.

"Have you ever had the feeling of dissolving from the inside out? I've always imagined dissolving as a tingling sensation, but it doesn't really tingle. Your hair's blue; like the sky. I've never seen the sky, before..." I gave one sharp, abrupt laugh, before hiccupping and feeling acid climb up my throat. I dry-wretched, twice, before feeling my stomach settle down. I found myself neutrally staring at Sonnie.

"That's nice. Thought you were comatose, for a while, there. Though I can't say I blame you, what with...circumstances the way they are." He said while collecting the surgical equipment from off the floor. I blinked in confusion, my head cleared significantly from all the frantic thinking I had done. I mused over what he had said before giving up my task of trying to decipher what he meant.

"Circumstances?" I questioned, my voice coming out much slower and quieter that when I had ranted. Sonnie shrugged haplessly, his yellow cat eyes widening from mentioning what he had might not wanted to mention.

"You'll figure it out, sooner or later, Della."

"Stella."

"Yeah, okay, that." I resisted the urge to throw the nearest heavy object at him. Without another word, Sonnie was out the door, the wooden blockade shut and locked before I could stand up to leap at my chance of escape from the taunting room I was cooped up in. Then something occurred to me.

"I could have used those to pick the lock!" I said in disbelief of my own stupidity. I banged my head against the wall, several times, before frantically crawling over to the door and peeking under the crack in the bottom.

A slim, silver, apparatus lay three inches away from the other side of the door. I had always been bad at estimating dimensional ratios, so I tried wedging my right hand under the door, only being able to reach two and a half inches outside said door. Pulling my hand away, I sat back up and looked around to find something that could extend my reach. Other than the chair and the table, there was nothing separate from the walls. I picked said chair up and-as inconspicuously as I could manage-threw it at the nearest wall with all the strength in my body. Thankfully, I heard a snapping sound and went to examine my handy work.

One of the chair's legs was half snapped off, the seat of the chair split into three distinguishable pieces. I picked at a sliver of wood until it broke free; I held the smooth, wide chip of wood in my hand, feeling myself beam at the key to the key of my way out of there. Moving back to the door, this time with my wood chip in my hand, I wriggled my fingers towards and successfully scraped the metal object under my side of the door. I honestly wanted to kiss the miniature rusty hook. Setting my excitable emotions aside, I inserted the tool into the hole of the doorknob, jiggling and twisting it tentatively. It took me a few minutes to turn the tool every which way and mutter profanities under my breath, but the lock eventually popped open. I pushed the door open, inhaling sharply with anticipation, only to have my expression fall flat when the door chain on the other side caught the door a fraction of the way open. I was skinny-scrawny even-but even I could not fit through there. Believe me, I tried. I stuck my left arm out the crack in the door, feeling around until I found the lock. (In my many free hours of solitude, when I was young, I had discovered that my left arm was just slightly longer than my right arm. This is why I mainly used it for reaching purposes.)

Grasping onto the chain, I pulled the door towards me, becoming absolutely flat against the wood frame as I slid the chain towards the center of the door. With some squeezing of my left arm, I unlatched the lock, feeling a stir of brief liberation as the door finally swung open.

I wasn't about to become reckless, however, as I peered through the doorway, looking each way and finding no one in sight.

Alright, now I could be reckless.

I turned left and practically sprinted down the hall, finding nothing but closed doors and no corners to turn. How big was this place, anyway? The design of the doors and gaudy wallpaper reminded me of the hotels I'd seen in movies, sans the little room number placards.

"Who makes their base in an out of business hotel?" I criticized irritably as what I thought to be an elevator turned out to actually a double door suite. I came to a dead end and turned right around, sprinting the other way. I eventually passed the room I had broken out of, then went on to the other side of the hall, feeling the worn down carpet under my feet give my uncalloused skin brush burn. The more I searched and found no staircase nor elevator, the more restless I became. I had lived my entire life strictly indoors. I wanted out! Or a window, at least!

The fact that I was preoccupied with my frustrated thoughts and running without monitoring my speed both contributed to me screaming and falling on my back when a door was thrown open in front of me. I groaned in pain from the bruise now forming on my forehead.

_How many internal injuries can one person sustain, withou__t internally bleeding to death?_ I thought incredulously as I stared at the ceiling, my vision becoming temporarily fuzzy, before straightening to reveal the lovely face of my favorite clown.

**[1] Fear of being locked in somewhere.**

**There you have it! Reviews help me write faster *hint hint* if you want to see what happens. XD**


	6. Glass Shards and Twinkies

**Update time! And yes, I did wake up this morning, determined to get a chapter finished. Stella gets sooo beaten up in this one. xD Remember, though, I'm trying to make her an…upstanding member… of…society. *Snort* Okay, maybe not, but the process is gonna' be fun. Also, I was halfway through eating a giant gummy bear, in the process of writing this. Be afraid. Enjoy! XD**

I scowled at him-wouldn't you?-while rubbing my still sore forehead. I wasn't going to forgive him for that move, any time soon. Before either one of us could exchange any words, my stomach decided to speak up, instead. A rumbling louder than I thought possible sounded from my torso, signaling that the organ in question was yet again shrinking. I glared down at it, for interrupting my unspoken words, before returning my gaze.

"I broke your chair. Can I have food, now?" I asked casually, now only feeling a dull throbbing of pain in my head. Then, I stared at him with wide blank eyes; until he relented the contemplative look he was casting me.

"C'mon," he muttered begrudgingly, causing me to wonder if he valued that chair I had smashed and if I would be paying for it, later. I mentally shrugged the thought off and happily-yet cautiously-followed behind him at a reasonably safe distance, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dully lit flight of stairs. I gripped the handrail, already feeling like I was about to fall over, but it really didn't help when my arm was randomly yanked and a _certain_ person conveniently stepped out of my way as I plummeted forwards and began my journey down the particularly sharp steps. Fortunately, I had exactly enough time to cover my face with my arms, but my pissed-off-o-meter was rising, by the moment.

When I finally got to the bottom of the extremely long stair case, I instantly sprung up, shooting daggers with my eyes at the Joker.

"Really? I mean, really?" I shouted, half raising my arms up in questioning with my mouth slightly agape. Things could have gotten much uglier, at that point, but my little trip seemed to have put the clown in a good mood.

"Yup," he replied, sauntering down the stairs in his own special way.

"I'm _not _a punching bag." I turned away from him in a huff, and would have gone off to break something, if all I could see hadn't been nothing but drearily painted gray walls.

_Or a stabbing bag, or a kicking bag, or a strangling bag, for that matter…Where the Hell am I? I hate hallways. They never end and they mock me. _I glanced down the other side of the hall which the Joker was carelessly walking down. Disgruntled and having no other choice, I trailed after him, not getting any closer but never losing sight of him. I became even more wary when his back disappeared into a darkened doorway. I looked around me-_Nope, still have no idea where I am-_and sighed before following.

As soon as I heard the crunching sounds of glass being stepped on, I froze, subconsciously looking down at my own bare feet. When I slowly lifted my gaze to the room before me, my optimism quickly declined at a ninety degree angle. The entire cement floor of the large room was littered with glass shards of all different colors. Light reflected off of them in a menacing way and I felt myself gulp in apprehension. I straightened my spine and took a tentative step forward, inching a few shards of glass away with my toe and shivering slightly as they made a scraping sound.

"Dragging your feet is bad for your posture!" The irritating voice of the Joker called out unhelpfully. At this point, I bristled at every word he said and wanted to contradict every fact he stated. I was contemplating dragging my feet the whole way, when a thought struck me as very important.

_This could be another test…in which case, I don't intend on failing. _A surge of determination gripped me as I lifted one of my feet and placed it sturdily on the floor in front of me. Fortunately, the area I stepped in was mostly devoid of glass and even then the shards were too small to puncture much of the skin on the bottoms of my feet. I braced myself to take a few more steps, which also didn't result in my skin being punctured, but the middle of the room was a completely different story. Whole broken off bottle tops, half-cracked pairs of glasses, and even parts of a window met the bottoms of my feet, obviously very fond of them as they stabbed, slashed, and scraped my skin open. I grimaced as, after about ten steps, my footsteps made a wet sound from the blood leaking onto the floor. After twenty steps, I was limping on my right leg, which had a heavier footfall than my left leg. The sharp, searing, constant pain began to get to me; my breathing was raspy and shallow by the time I reached the other side of the room.

_There. _I thought to myself, glad that I had made it through another maddening ordeal. Just as I was making to pull some of the larger shards of glass from the pads of my feet, I was shoved backwards, my back also becoming acquainted with the floor full of shattered glass. I groaned in frustration as I raised myself from the floor, just knowing that I was bound to get some sort of disease while mutely watching the Joker walk back to the other side of the room.

"Oh, right, I wanted to-ah-go this way!" He declared, peering back at me with a smile that was all kinds of cruel. With mutters of "Freaking jerk," and the like, I unsteadily stood myself up and made the excruciating journey back across the room.

He did this another five times.

Five _freaking _times.

Tears were streaming down my face by the time he got tired of his current game. We eventually entered through the door that I was first expecting to go through, which lead to yet another hallway. I bit my lip, holding back any screaming I was tempted to do, for later. Clinking sounded from my feet as I winced and promised my feet that I'd get the glass shards out of them later.

_I will be so surprised if I haven't torn a tendon yet. _I mused, only a little relieved when we came to the room I had first entered, during my visit. I immediately sat myself on the arm of the couch and began to pick shards of glass from my feet and back, all the while watching my failure of a host watch me do so. I could have said countless not-so-nice things, to start something, but I either didn't have the will or the energy to do so. I simply continued to dig deeper into my foot with my nails to dislodge some smaller shards of glass.

_What's going on in his head, I wonder? _I thought curiously, unsure of the closed expression on his face. _Nothing pleasant, I'm sure. _I turned away from him, the persistent chill that had taken residence in my spine once again rising. I distractedly examined the black grit and blood underneath my fingernails. My vision began to swim and I squeezed my eyes shut, almost certain that I was about to faint, and knowing that I wasn't going to last long at the rate I was going.

Sighing to myself, I tiptoed around him and did a quick survey of the kitchen area, fairly disappointed when I found nothing but beer and whatever Twinkies were.

_Men. _I huffed to myself and read the nutrition facts on the back of the box of Twinkies, just to be safe, before unwrapping one and eating it as fast as humanly possible.

"Oh god, too much sugar; way too much sugar." I blanched, my face contorting into a disgusted expression as my stomach protested against the lack of nutritional values of the food I had just given it. I let out a belch, and then swallowed down the bile rising in my throat, before my guts settled themselves.

"What the fuck! Those are mine!" Came indignant voice of Sonnie. He then barreled into me and ripped the box out of my hands. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in defense.

"Don't get your panties in a bundle, Queenie; I won't ever eat that poor excuse of an edible substance ever again." I shot back, raising a brown when I noticed the Joker's absence. Just as I was about to voice my question, he came running out with my old pal Skinny following at a safe distance behind him.

"C'mon, kids, we're going to McDonalds!" He screamed while beaming with an expression that was almost as scary as Ronald McDonald's grin. Sonnie and I glanced at each other, perplexed, before trudging behind Skinny and back into the van.

** Bweheeh! So, you guys, I want reviews. I'll take just one; I dun care. I want to know what your thoughts are and where you think this is going. I know that the next installment is going to be hella fun to write! Like, seriously though, review. Thankssss. :D**


	7. Driving Lessons

**It's that time again, folks! You guessed it: the I'm-updating-now-since-I-have-nothing-better-to-do, because-this-is-a-fanfiction, and- I-cannot-in-anyway-profit-from-these-writings-and-I-do-not-wish-to-because-I-am-not-an-elitist-biznatch time! I like dashes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed/added this story to their favorites/watch lists. I feel loved. This chapter is kind of ironic, because I actually have the stomach bug, so it was easy for me to write certain parts. Sorry about taking so long to update; if I don't like certain parts of what I write, I delete them and start all over again. Plus, ya' know, throwing up doesn't help my concentration much. Oops. Now, on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, any of the characters associated with the series, Twinkies, or McDonalds. I only own the characters I made for this story.**

* * *

The entire drive there was horrifying. Once again, the Joker insisted on driving. Apparently, he was unaware of that little rule that says to stay on one side of the road. Especially when oncoming traffic is coming directly at you at 60 MPH. Hell, I had only been in a car once before, and I knew that! I simply dug my nails into the nearest solid object-namely, a loudly protesting Skinny-and wished that there were seatbelts of any kind in the van.

After several instances of being completely convinced that we were going to crash into a pole or another vehicle, the van finally jerked to a stop, leaving my stomach in a worse state than it had started out to be.

"I shouldn't have eaten that Twinkie." I groaned as my stomach dangerously lurched towards my esophagus. I was getting really tired of feeling like crap and so my disposition started to become dour. Needless to say, when my seat (i.e. Skinny) started another bout of protesting, I did not hesitate to give him a good punch in the head.

"Shut it!" I hissed, swallowing down that nasty sensation you get when you're about to empty your stomach of all its contents.

_These idiots are really getting on my nerves; maybe I really did get in with the wrong crowd. _I mused, feeling somehow the thought was a little late. _Hm…Nah. _I rolled my eyes and huffed as Skinny went on another growly tirade that I really wasn't paying attention to. I waited a few minutes, to see if he'd wind himself out, before cutting him off.

"Oh I'm _sorry, _but in the last twenty-four hours, have you been shot, strangled, thrown into walls, kicked, stabbed, thrown down a flight of steps, made to walk barefoot over shattered glass, _pushed_ into said glass, and then hassled by a flunky who doesn't even know _your name_?" All he did in response was stare at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head that was presently spewing fireballs. I inhaled deeply, doing my best to recover myself, before offering him a small smile.

"I didn't think so." I confessed while turning my attention to the front of the van, where our valet was hanging halfway out of the window and screaming about something called a "Happy Meal." I turned to look at Sonnie for any sort of hint at what was going on. He didn't seem to find anything strange about this behavior, so I sat still and appreciated the fact that I had yet to vomit throughout the entire ride.

Things did get pretty shaken up as the Joker peeled out of the drive through, driving down a busy road and doing an illegal U-turn in the middle of an intersection, before going a completely different direction and doing the same thing two more times.

"Quit freaking _spinning!" _I burst out, struggling my way to the front of the van, only to grab onto the back of the driver's seat as the Joker made another sharp turn.

"Not, ah, gonna' happen!" He retorted in a sing-song voice, scaring all thoughts out my head as he swung his head around with a harrowingly amused expression creasing his brow. My parlor had turned green as I fought to keep down the bile rising in my throat. The Joker, apparently, noticed; his maniacal grin thinned out to a thoughtful frown.

"You don't, ah, _like _the way I drive?" He asked in an even voice, the undertones scaring me more than if he had started screaming. I flicked my gaze from him to the windshield and back again, my heartbeat frenzied as another car barely dodged out of the van's way as it flew down the street. I knew that I was risking killing us all-or myself, at least-as I shook my head defiantly.

"Not at _all, _to be honest." I replied, trying to keep the nausea out of my voice as my stomach moved in time with the sudden jerking and whipping around we were doing. He rose a brow, maybe because he hadn't expected such a blunt answer from someone as sickly looking as me, before unleashing another unnerving bout of laughter.

"Well, ah, _fine_, then! Let's just see how, ah, well _you _drive!" He released the steering wheel and a terrified scream tore from my throat as an eighteen wheeler came straight at us. To my great relief, Sonnie quickly spun the wheel to force the van out of the way, which earned him a hard punch in the face.

"No, no, no! We, ah, all know that _you _can drive. What I _wanted _to see was how well, ah, Skelly-Bones can!" Ignoring the weird name he had formulated for me, I yelped and dove across the driver's seat to grip the wheel. I had nearly avoided ramming into a brick building and swerved into oncoming traffic, before shifting back into the right lane.

"There is something seriously wrong with you!" I yelled over the bout of honking that ensued, my fear making me unnecessarily loud, once again. I immediately realized that what I said was a no-no, and before I could turn to see how my words had affected the one working the pedals. The van slammed to a stop and I became airborne, my face cracking against the windshield at an alarming speed.

"Care to, ah, repeat that?" Came the Joker's angry growl. I was busy looking at the stars that circled around my head, so I couldn't find words to speak, but a yelp of surprise escaped my throat as he grabbed me by my hair and pulled my face up to his. My breathing came out as little puffs of air and I could feel myself going cross-eyed as the cold metal of a knife was pressed against my cheekbone.

"If this is going to, ah, to work out, then _you're _going to have to, ah, _behave _yourself." He stated calmly, growling the last part and pressing the knife closer for emphasis. I had yet to be taught to fear pain, so the knife held little influence over me, but the Joker's expression was enough to shock me into silence. I cringed away from the intensity of his stare, the sudden movement making me more aware of the approaching sound of wailing sirens. Returning my gaze, I glowered at him while biting the inside of my cheek.

"Fine." I seethed in a clipped voice, hating that I had once again lost the staring game and silently vowing to win one day. I went to retreat to the back of the van, but his grip didn't loosen in the slightest, which caused the blade of his knife to dig into the vulnerable skin of my cheek. It only took me a matter of seconds to start to feel extremely uncomfortable. The first time I had ever made any physical contact with anyone was the previous night, and that was a brief hug with my mother before I blew her brains out.

"I don't , ah, think I _like _your tone." His grip on my hair tightened, and I felt my eyes widen out of instinct, but I was actually annoyed at _his _tone.

_I just got rid of one father; I don't need _another _one! _I fumed, tuning back in as he flicked his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes blazing angrily at my turmoil filled silence. I would have been glad to voice my opinion right back at him, but the wailing of sirens was growing louder and I could see flashing lights approaching at an alarming speed.

_I am _not _going to jail as a result of my own stubbornness. _It hurt like hell, but I swallowed my pride and sighed in aggravation while enduring his unwavering gaze.

"I'm sorry; what I said was…unnecessary. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I _really_ don't want that flock of police cars to catch up to us." I said, my voice sounding just above a mutter as I felt my ego become painfully bruised. The Joker's face slowly shifted to a satisfied gloating grin, at which I huffed angrily. He dragged the blade down the rest of my cheek, cutting skin along the way, before shoving me into the back of the van. I landed in the open space with a dull thud and a startled cry. Cupping my cheek carefully, I righted myself and leered up at him.

He had floored the vehicle as fast as it would go with his focus centered on manipulating other cars so that they crashed into the patrol cars. I thought I caught him muttering about "kids these days" and "don't let it happen again."

I held on for dear life, seething the whole time and breathing a sigh of relief when we stopped. I calmly climbed out of the van, took a few steps forward, and promptly spilled my guts out on the pavement.

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**Yup, so that's the chapter. I wanted to establish the layout of how Stella feels towards others asserting authority over her and I hope I succeeded. **

**Just so you know, I've been wanting to edit the previous chapters for grammar mistakes that I didn't catch the first time(it always bugs me when I can't fix a grammatical error), so I'll be restoring previous chapters. All the corrections are made, so it shouldn't take too long. I've also already started the next chapter and know exactly what's going to happen. 'Til then, reviews would be appreciated. Thanks!**


	8. Twenty Questions

**I think this is the longest chapter of this story, so far. By a lot. Wow. I've been writing in school during study hall and I've been inspired. Also because I love you and feel bad about never updating regularly.**

**Anyway, things get nostalgic here. There's some ideologically sensitive material in one part of this chapter, to forewarn you, so brace yourself/don't read that part (the italicized parts)/whichever route you choose to take. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any characters associated with the series.**

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I was doing my best to push the incident of the whole car ride into the back of my mind. My nerves were pretty frayed and I wasn't taking my anxiety very well. I was lagging behind the others, both my head and my stomach incredibly sore.

"Skelly-Bones! Hurry up and c'mere!" The Joker mockingly urged, bouncing in his spot by the kitchen counter. I moseyed on at my own pace, my cut up feet causing me to limp.

"NOW!" I jumped and my first reaction was to kick my feet out from under me and run the rest of the way there. I dodged around the table sized island, skidded to a stop, and then looked up at him expectedly with my brow raised. He was holding a red box and tossed it to me once I stopped myself from falling over.

"Here's your Happy Meal. Go, ah, _nuts!_" He exclaimed, giggling dementedly at his own dumb joke.

I looked it over, suspiciously wondering what he had done to it while leaning against the kitchen island and inspecting it. Sonnie was trying not to smile as he ate his burger on the parallel side of the island. This only increased my feeling as I set the parcel on the counter and popped the top open, peering inside.

The food looked normal, so I became increasingly confused as I scanned the box's contents. Then I saw it; the plastic wrapped pink abomination that was My Little Pony.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed, my eyes wide in disbelief as both of the bright haired jerks burst into laughter. It had just then occurred to me that a "Happy Meal" was for children.

"Don't like your toy, Helen?" Sonnie asked quietly between snickers. His face met the flying plastic toy, real fast, but I didn't say anything else except to correct him about my name again.

As the two carried on, I simply stood there and furiously munched away at my fries, the deep fried strips of potato calming me significantly.

"I'm a grown ass woman. I don't need this crap." I growled, looking up as the laughter suddenly died down.

"Wait a minute. How, ah, old _are _you?" The Joker asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. My mouth gaped open slightly at the question.

"How old did you think I was?" I retorted in disbelief. He took two long strides towards me and hunched over slightly-to get a better look at me, I guessed-before slowly circling me. I didn't feel comfortable at all under the scrutiny of his gaze, but I did my best not to show it as I munched on my fries.

"Fifteen, maybe sixteen." He deadpanned, causing my jaw to drop at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

"I'm eighteen!" I shrieked in outrage, feeling my inner fire begin to flicker to life.

"I know I'm scrawny and everything, but come _on_! If I was still a hormonal fifteen year old, I'd be blubbering on about this cut and making goo-goo eyes at _that _thing!" I reasoned, pointing to a glowering Sonnie, who was rubbing the spot on his face where the girly toy had hit him pretty hard.

I felt no pity for him as I held my hand against my gashed open cheek. It hurt when I touched it, but it hurt even more when I didn't, so I kept it where it was.

My host continued to stare mercilessly at me, obviously cooking something up in his twisted mind, before another exaggerated smile overtook his face.

"Well _that,_" he said while prodding me forward, "changes everything!" I gave little care as I was rushed out of the room and down another series of hallways and staircases. I didn't even know which floor we were on by the time I was shoved into a mostly barren room.

* * *

It might have been futile, but I dragged my heels as the Joker impatiently ushered me to sit at the metal table stationed in the middle of the room.

The droplets of blood smeared near where I sat didn't encourage me much. I suspected that my father, if not one of the Joker's other victims, had recently been sitting in the same seat I sat in. I smiled at how _that _might have looked; my father cowering and begging for his own life as the Joker recorded the whole thing.

_I wonder if the news station sells mass copies of what they show on the morning news. I'd definitely buy a copy._

I snapped my vision away as a loud bang echoed throughout the room. He had slammed his hands down on the table and was presently leering down at me with a frighteningly cheery expression on his face.

"We haven't really been able to have a, ah, _tal-k_. _I _know why you're here, but do, ah, you?" I had hundreds of theories, but I didn't want to directly guess why. Instead, I shook my head and chose a broader answer.

"No, but I can only guess that it in some way includes me being used as a pawn in the game you mentioned, before." I stated truthfully. I had always been a realist or a neutral.

"I'm not going to candy coat my situation. But to answer your question, no, I don't have a clue." He patted my injured cheek, hard, and I let out a grunt of pain.

"You're a smart girl. I like that. But you're such a _down-er._ You've gotta' learn to, ah, _smile _more. To look on the brigh-_t _side of things." He smacked my cheek with every other word he said. I could tell that it was very difficult for him not to hit me harder. I stared at him, not sure how he wanted me to accomplish this.

_I could be killed, or beaten, or choked at any moment and he wants me to be more _optimistic? I thought grumpily, feeling more blood trickle down the cheek he was still gripping. I uncomfortably tried to pull my face from out of his grip, really not digging the whole casual invasion of my bubble thing he kept doing.

_Haphenphobia._[1] I thought miserably, my temper spiking when the Joker noticed my discomfort and smirked to himself before hovering closer to me.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I finally asked, crossing my arms defensively and leaning back in my chair to avoid him as much as possible.

This didn't accomplish much, but I grimaced as he released his grip on my chin and instead clamped onto my shoulders. His fingers bit into the pinched nerve in my neck and I was forced to bit my lip from screaming.

"You're too, ah, _up-tight. _Ya' gotta' learn how to have _fun_! Take me for example: I blow things _up_ and _enjoy _it. You don't seem to enjoy _anything_…"

He paused and leaned in towards my ear, exhaling, his breath brushing against my neck and making me cringe.

"Except annoying me."

His eyes bore into the side of my head and I didn't know whether to smile because it was true or keep a straight face due to his annoyed voice.

Fortunately, his face quickly brightened, but I shivered in revulsion as he ran a hand through my hair. I was anticipating the next time he hurt me-and I wasn't about to drop my guard.

"I thin _-k _I'll have to _teach_ you, ah, how to have _fun_." I didn't even want to think about what was going to go on when _that _time came. If exploding things and killing people was his idea of fun, then I wanted no part of it.

_Killing my mother was an act of self-defense. _I reasoned, warding off the guilt monster, which was trying to make my stomach twist into knots.

"I don't like loud things." I said slowly, cautiously glancing sidelong at him. The Joker was staring right back at me, brow raised, with a thoughtful pout on his lips.

"And, ah, why is _tha-t?_" He asked, the voice rumbling in his chest proving that he was leaning _way _too close to me.

"Bad experiences." I muttered, feeling my eyes widen a bit from the painful memories. I instantly recovered with a stoic mask as my shield. I didn't react fast enough, apparently. I watched, panicked, as his Glasgow smile grew with his own monstrous expression of amusement.

The Joker had hit a nerve and he knew it. I was sure that he was going to dig into that nerve until something interesting came out of it.

His grip on my shoulders loosened and he moved around the table to take the seat across from me.

"Tell me a story, Skelly-Bones."

My breathing stopped, mid-inhale, and I felt my eyes widen in fear again.

_I didn't want anyone to know. I _never_ wanted anyone to know. It's buried in the past and that person's dead. Why can't it all just die like he did? _These thoughts looped around my head until a dull aching sounded off in the back of my skull.

The moment I found my voice, I spat out my answer, that answer sounding something to the effect of "Hell no."

In a flash, he had reached across the table and slammed my head into it. My teeth clamped down on my tongue and I instantly felt blood fill my mouth. I blinked, seemingly in slow motion, as I let it trickle out of my mouth.

"Not _cool_." I slurred, groaning, since it hurt my jaw to move it. Through my pain, I glared at him, my tolerance of said sensation dwindling. It continued to increase as the seconds ticked by, however, and I ended up feeling a powerful headache approaching.

"Well, ah, if you co-op-erate, then I wouldn't _have _to, ah, _resort _to more vi-o-len_t _tactics to make you tal_k_." He said this very calmly with his hands clasped together and stretched halfway towards me, ready to smash my face into the table again, if need be.

I shook my head, taking in a lungful of air and giving up on suppressing my grin. Despite feeling sore and intimidated and exhausted, I was in a pretty good mood.

_Cynically playful seems to be a good way to put it. _I decided.

"I just think you should know that, even if I'm not aware of it most of the time, I tend not to respond well to authority." I said, my tone cool and matter of fact. I had broken out in a sweat, but I took little notice, delving into my memories even as my face met the table again.

This time, however, he held me there and ground my nose into the table. I gasped and tried to push away, my arms and legs scrambling, but ended up screaming as a pop and a crack echoed throughout the room.

I slid back into my seat as soon as soon as he let me go. Clutching my nose, my breathing became rapid as I choked on my own blood, which was now dribbling down the back of my throat.

"Did you just break my nose?" I asked breathlessly, tentatively poking at the cartilage and letting out a hiss.

"Probably." He giggled, his mood obviously improved by my expression of pain. He handed me a handkerchief conveniently stored up his sleeve-as all true showmen do-before settling back in his own chair.

"We'll just have to, ah, work on tha _-t_. You'll either _learn_ through positive _reinforcement,_ or get a _lot _more broken body parts!" I nodded while bringing the cloth up to my face to try and slow the bleeding. It could have been all the blood loss, but I acted very mildly to the fact that he had just openly threatened me, as well as with the fact I was getting dangerously dizzy.

"Now, tell me about this _back_-story between you and loud noises." I felt my world tilt and decided that I'd better hurry up. If I were to finally spit my story out, I was going to have to do so before fainting.

It made me feel as if I were at one of the many therapist sessions my mother had set up for me, but I started at the beginning, keeping my stoic mask on as I began to speak

"Well, it started when I was thirteen…"

_My surroundings disappeared and I found myself staring in at my old room. A thirteen year old Stella sat on the floor, reading a book…_

"I had always been a quiet child and I was always content to read a book or draw a picture. None of those battery operated toys ever interested me.

It was a Sunday. My father always went to play golf and drink at his country club on Sundays. Sometimes, when Mother wasn't home, he'd bring his friends over to watch sports…"

_My daydream zeroed in as young Stella perked her head up as several rowdy voices filled the house with drunken laughter. She was used to these distant noises and went back to reading her book…_

"That Sunday, however, was different. My father and his friends had already had too much to drink. My mother always said alcohol was the devil's water…I believe her…"

_Young Stella's head snapped up as a group of men-five, maybe six of them-all crowded into the room. Their voices were so loud and overwhelming that it made the small girl flinch and cover her ears. Everything in the room echoed and her heart beat raced frantically in her chest. She was so used to her quiet sanctuary that-BOOM, BOOM-their voices were unbearable as they laughed and carried on._

"And seeing as he was _especially _drunk that day, he forgot where he was and who _I _was. All that sick _bastard _saw was an innocent girl that he could manipulate."…

"_Daddy, what's going on?" Little Stella mumbled quietly, her hands still over her ears. The middle-aged man stumbled forward, a lecherous smile tainting his otherwise handsome and honest face. _

"_Daddy and his friends are bored of watching football, Stella. We want to see a different show. You're a good actress; show us how well you act."…_

"I was _thirteen. _Hehad a box c-cutter and he held it against the plastic of my tent-that's what I called it, until I was fifteen. Tap, tap, tap…"

…_Tap, tap, tap. Little Stella held her breath, her hands clasped to her mouth, her breathing ragged._

"_Stop it, Daddy." She gasped, her eyes widening as far as they could go._

"_Take your shirt off." Her father suddenly growled, pressing the box cutter closer to the plastic so that he scratched the surface._

"_What? No!" She squeaked, covering herself uncomfortably. The rowdy men only got louder and louder and Stella put her hands over her ears again._

"_Take it off before I cut it!"…_

"I thought I was going to die and I didn't understand why my father was acting that way." My vision remained on my hands, which were clamed so tightly around a familiar purple jacket clad arm that my knuckles were white. I didn't look up and instead took a deep breath and continued...

_Little Stella sat on the floor, sobbing, her shirt pulled over her head. She was blocking every word and every sound out as she cried, exposed to the filthy-rotten-drunken men as they raked over her body with their eyes. She didn't so much as move until they all left. Her father went to get something to clean up the stains…_

"And that was only the first time. Seems like that freaking bubble she put me in didn't _work_." I slowly yet not so steadily released my grip on the Joker's arm. I had dug in deep and was surprised that I hadn't been shoved away, and that I hadn't punctured holes in his jacket.

One of my nails had snapped off, but I simply shrugged it off as a technicality. I could also feel that my bleeding had slowed, which comforted me somewhat, but looking up at that face made any comforting thoughts vanish. I recoiled into myself, noticing that my chest was tightened and my breathing was coming out shallow.

"I'm having a panic attack." I stated, surprised by the calmness in my voice as I began to go into shock. I swiveled my head to look up at him, screaming as my father's face replaced his, before fainting.

* * *

I awoke with my head pounding and a light shining in my eyes. I would have rolled over, but I felt the cold metal underneath me and knew that I was lying on the same table my face had been smashed into. I groaned and brought my hand up to my head only to groan again as dried blood flaked off into my eyes.

I was just starting to become aware of my surroundings. I didn't notice the person staring down at me with a pondering expression on their face. Then a flash of black, red, and white entered my line of vision.

"Boo!" I screamed, sat upright, and bashed my face into the lamp suspended overhead.

"That's really not a good thing to do to someone who's recovering from a panic attack." I huffed, swinging my legs over the edge of the table and hopping off.

"It sure did wake you _up,_ though, didn't it?" I rolled my eyes while he wasn't looking and nodded warily.

"Good point." I ceded. My knees buckled and I grabbed onto the table, blanching in annoyance as my hand smeared the dried blood on it. I looked at the Joker, my eyes bugging out a bit. "I am so sick of getting blood on me, whether it's mine or not!" I exclaimed, rubbing my temples to try to make my headache go away. I never let my attention stray from him, though-I wasn't in the mood for another ambush.

"Ya' know, I had expected you to faint, ah, a lot sooner. You're stubborn, which could be a good or bad thing." He was casually circling the table, which caused me to do the same, going counter-clockwise along with him. I stepped right when he stepped right, and moved left when he moved left, mirroring him perfectly.

"You won't be easy to get information out of, which can be a good thing." He suddenly dove over the table, using a chair for leverage, and tackled me to the floor. I went to try and struggle, but he was already sitting on my back with his back to me. I kicked furiously at him, the skin on my legs not much appreciating the cold floor, but he easily grabbed ahold one of my ankles.

With one hand, he shifted his jacket off to reveal a hexagonal patterned shirt, which he dropped to the floor. He then proceeded to take an assortment of tools I couldn't name out of a pocket and turned completely away from me again. I was _not_ happy and my mood soured even more when something cold and plastic was strapped to my ankle.

"What are you _doing_?" I huffed, twisting to look. The Joker wasn't having any of _that_, though, and pressed more weight onto my back. He then blatantly ignored my question and continued.

"That could also be a very _bad_ thing. Ya' see, I like to know what's going on with people _a_-round me. It hurts my _feel_-ings when they don't _tell_ me things I should know. Ya' know what I mean, Skelly-Bones?" A series of clicking and scraping sounds were coming from out of my line of vision, but I wasn't in pain-for the moment-, and so I didn't think much of it. I made a sound of confirmation, still miffed that there was about 180 pounds of clown on me, but relieved that I didn't have to look at him.

"Why do you call me that?" I asked neutrally, already used to being put through odd situations. I was learning to cope and flow with wherever the war paint-clad riptide sitting on my back took me.

A tentative knock sounded from the other side of the door. A voice that I didn't recognize called out without that nervous stammer I'd heard the Joker's goons use around him. I guessed it was Bob, who was the only one of them I hadn't heard speak.

"Boss, it's 1:30. You wanted me to remind you that we gotta' get goin'." I looked up curiously while wondering what was going on. The broken nasal membranes in my nose were still being stubborn and leaving a few drops of blood on the floor underneath me. The Joker released my ankle and I scrambled away on my hands and knees as soon as he stood up. Without glancing at me, he strode towards the door and cracked it open to have a whispered conversation with Bob.

Lights were swimming in my vision and I temporarily forgot about the cold floor underneath me. The door then swung open and the Joker looked back at me, as if he was contemplating something. Finally, he shifted in what could have been a shrug and motioned for me to get up. The room's axis was currently spinning, however, and I couldn't bring myself to move.

_I'm going to be sick._

I was barely able to sit myself on my knees before I fell over with a resounding "oof!" Trying my best to lift my face from the cement, I ended up coughing up a pleasant array of blood and mucus. It wasn't long before I felt fingers bite into my sides as I was flung into the air, the one manhandling me acting as if I were a sack of flour. My stomach tried to fling itself into my esophagus as I was flung over the person's shoulder.

"Do I have to do _all_ the work, around here?" The Joker asked over his shoulder, his long strides jarring me into gripping onto the hexagonal patterned shirt. I was upside down, though, so the close proximity to the confusing pattern disoriented my vision to some degree.

"I'd be able to walk, if I didn't have such a tremendous amount of blood loss. I didn't just start bleeding on my own, might I add." My voice came out muffled, but I felt more than heard him snort.

"Not, ah, _directly_, no. That can be today's lesson! Action-consequence: if you say or do something people don't, ah, _like_, then bad things _will_ happen to you. Bleeding is what happened…_this_ time." As if to prove his threat to be valid, he flung me onto my back. I cringed, expecting more cement or even broken glass, but I landed on a padded surface. I sighed and shifted deeper into the material, out of instinct, but froze when I spotted a clown face looming over me. I slowly sat up and looked down at my ankle. My mouth hardened into a thin line as I saw the makeshift ankle monitor strapped to me.

"Now, in the event that you _do , _ah, manage to break out again, this," he tapped the chunky weight on my leg, "will explode. You won't go very far with one leg, will you?" He asked condescendingly, a wide smile settling itself on his face, before disappearing completely. I shook my head as defiantly as I could manage, feeling peeved heat climb up my neck. I was sick and tired of being cooped up in small spaces, for hours on end.

"No, not far." I agreed, not daring to look above the collar of his shirt. I knew that I'd go overboard if I had to look at his face before calming myself.

The Joker had other plans, it seemed, as he roughly grabbed my chin to force my gaze upward. My anger fizzled into unease; I squirmed uncomfortably while yieldingly looking into his eyes.

They didn't look completely black, like they had in the other dark rooms; they were even scarier. A chaotic mixture of dark colors writhed and shifted in his irises-like a burning building. My breath hitched in my throat as he drew closer and a flicker of anger flickered back to life within me from the sudden movement. He knew that I hated physical contact, but he was antagonizing me about it, anyway.

_Could he _get _any closer to my face?_

His eyes became unfocused and I tried not to speculate about what he was thinking. Fortunately, he snapped back from oblivion before my mind could wander to even more morbid things.

"Good girl." Patting my cheek-_hard_-he finally backed away and left the room, shutting the door with a bang. I sat staring at the door and listening to the series of clicking I knew to be locks. With bated breath, I waited for his footsteps to recede, before I flung myself onto the bed. It was virtually bare, so I pushed my face into the sheets and let out a frustrated scream.

This was going to take forever.

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[1] Fear of being touched.

**There you go! The storyline will really pick up, after the next few chapters, so brace yourselves! My hands already hurt from thinking about how much I need to write!**

'**Til then,**

**-Jess**


	9. Contemplation

**I hate deadlines; hate them. So here's another chapter, just to spite them, and because I should be updating anyway. Enjoy!**

**Oh, and because I haven't put one in, in a while…**

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Batman, the Joker, or any other characters associated with the series. I only own Stella (poor Stella) and any other characters I have created.**

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It took me a few minutes to realize that there was a second door along the perimeter of the room. My first thought trailed towards my ankle bracelet, but a familiar pressure in the lower half of my torso alerted me to the fact that I had to use the bathroom.

_He couldn't be _that _much of a mean bastard, could he? _I wondered, sliding off the bed. I decided that I couldn't be sure as I tiptoed my way towards the door. I moved slowly and deliberately with each step being felt out and my hearing strained for any warning noise the censor might have made. Upon finally reaching my destination, I twisted the handle and pushed the door open, before peering inside.

Gritty tiles lined the floor. The once-white individual squares looked like they hadn't been cleaned in…ever, and the flickering lights that cast a green glow didn't help to create the illusion of cleanliness. The walls were barren of any windows (go figure), but a medicine cabinet with a mirrored lid stared at me from across the room.

Otherwise, the new space was supplied with the necessities of every bathroom: toilet, shower, sink. That was all there was.

My physical need overrode my inner interior designer, for the moment, as I brazenly stepped over the threshold of the two rooms and waited for five seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty. Nothing happened.

Sighing in relief, I did what my body was whining at me to do, before lingering by the sink and peering into the mirror. I did _not _like the sight that greeted me from the other side of the reflective surface.

A small girl who anyone would have guessed-though, they'd be wrong-looked about sixteen stared back at me. The top of her head reached about halfway up the mirror's length. The areas of her skin that weren't covered in blood were covered in dirt and shards of glass stuck out of her hair at odd angles. I frowned in contempt as I stared into my own ice-blue eyes.

"You're a mess." I chastised myself, plucking a glass shard out of my hair. My reflection didn't respond; she just stared at me with contained resentment. "Even your clothes are beyond foul-looking."

With that thought, I shimmied out of my shirt and pajama pants and threw them into the sink, before plugging the drain and running hot water over them. The water almost immediately turned an unpleasant crimson tint. I unplugged the drain and repeated the process until the water remained relatively clear.

"Now for the rest of me."

I inspected the bathtub and found it relatively clear of dirt and debris. After removing the rest of the glass from my hair, I twisted the shower nozzle to the hot setting, then hopped in.

I had always showered with my underclothes on. The thought of being naked with other people in the house skeeved me out, and since no one had ever given me grief about it, I thought it was a completely normal thing to do.

As soon as the hot water hit my back, I wanted to melt down the drain and stay there forever. My muscles relaxed and my roots began to tingle pleasantly. Smiling at the simplicity of my happiness, I then commenced scrubbing myself down, until my skin was red from the friction and my scalp ached from all the tugging I had subjected it to.

Shutting off the tap and pulling the curtains open, I stepped out of the shower and rung my clothes out well, then sat on the side of the tub to wait for both my clothes and my body to dry. There weren't any clean towels available, as far as I could see, so I was stuck with allowing the natural cycle of water to take its course.

"Well, this is boring." I muttered while staring out at the bedroom. I had left the door wide open in my desperation and extreme need of a shower. Nobody was in the warehouse, anyway, so ensuring my privacy seemed pointless.

I looked around for something to do. The only activity I could think of was to root through the drawers in the other room.

_He might have booby-trapped them, for all I know. _I decided against it and moved in front of the sink again to take in my slightly improved appearance. Completely void of any dried blood or dirt, my face seemed to be the most damaged of my entire body.

My nose was slightly askew and I had two black eyes. There was a partially-healed slash mark on my neck and a cut on my forehead that I hadn't noticed.

"Oh yeah, all the boys are gonna' be lining up to talk to _you._" I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. Then a voice boomed in my head so loud that I ducked away from the mirror.

"So you're interested in boys, now, are you? I always knew you'd turn into a little slut the moment you left home." I let out a short-lived scream as it dawned on me that the voice belonged to my mother.

"No way; there's no way! You're dead!" I muttered numbly, clenching my hands into fists and cautiously stepped up to the mirror. A violent tremor shot through me as my mother's face smirked back at me with a gruesome expression that didn't belong on her.

"Oh, but I'm not. Not as long as _you _remember what you did to me, Stella. I'm going to be with you forever." She confirmed, her blue eyes glittering in victory as I shrunk back from the mirror, my eyes widening slowly and my trembling intensifying.

"You're lying to me again. All you've ever done is lie to me, and even after all the shit you put me through you're still lying to me!" I glared at her, my eyes thinning into slits as she began to laugh, the sound echoing through my head. I clamped my hands over my ears, but the noise only intensified, booming now and unavoidable.

"Shut up!" I screamed. "Just leave me alone and die already! I hate you! I fucking hate you!" Before I knew what I was doing, I had shoved my fist through the mirror, making the glass crack and web-out. She just kept laughing, so I punched at her face again, and again, and again, until shards of glass were protruding from my hand and the mirror was smeared with blood. The laughing had finally stopped and I dutifully began to pick the glass out of my skin. My breath came out ragged and I knew that she'd still be there if I looked up.

I finished cleaning my new wounds, threw on my still damp clothes, and shuffled back into the bedroom. I could hear her humming a lullaby she had sung to me when I was small. I didn't want to listen to it.

I collapsed onto the bed and tugged the sheets up to crawl underneath them. I lay still with my knees curled up to my chest.

_She can't find me if I hide under here. _The humming continued, but I was being left alone, for the moment, so I finally let out all my anxious energy by crying softly to myself.

"This is so embarrassing. " I blubbered to myself, squeezing my eyes shut when a burning sensation I knew to be tears spread through my eyes.

Throughout the entire course of my coherent memory, I had cried maybe five times. Emotions weren't usually my thing so I couldn't cope very well when they boiled over. At the moment, I was actually surprised at how well I was dealing with all that had happened.

_I hate this. I hate her. _My thoughts began to get foggy and I realized how exhausted I was. I had been staring at the off-white sheet draped over my face when my eyes started to droop. I slowly tried to ease the tight grip I had on my head. It was significantly hard to convince myself, but I finally began to relax. After my hands, the rest of my body slowly followed suite and my mind slipped from consciousness to sub-consciousness, inch by frazzled inch. An escape seemed like the perfect thing, at the moment, so I took all the time I could get.

* * *

**So, there ya' go. I feel like it's sort of a "filler" chapter, but it was fun to write, so who cares. Stella's starting to lose it…not that she had much of "it," to begin with. Haha. A big "Thank you!" to the people who added this story to their alerts/favorites! **

**Til next time,**

**Jess**


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